Atemporal
by satan-chillin
Summary: In an extreme approach at keeping Hank Anderson from developing a destructive lifestyle, Connor traveled as far as 2017 back in time. Consequently, it was in the past that deviant Connor gradually learned more about his own acquired humanity.
1. Settling In

I have this headcanon that deviant Connor was less human-like in the route where Hank still committed suicide in the end, compared to the deviant Connor of the good end with alive Hank.

* * *

This wasn't how Connor expected Detroit to be.

The articles he read didn't tell him about the different sounds of a busy city: the noise of a crowd of people coming from all sides, talking either on their phones or conversing with another person; the noise of vehicles on a trafficked road; the noise of huge advertisements displayed on towering digital billboards; the noise from the beggars at the sidewalk asking for a spare change; the noise of street vendors hollering to have their products looked upon; and the distant music and sounds that Connor couldn't identify.

The pictures never showed the liveliness of the urban landscape, nor did they capture the stuffy atmosphere that came along with it. The images weren't able to make Connor feel as if he was being closed in by the tall towers and city blocks. And most especially, Connor wasn't shown the dirt on the road and the polluted air.

All of them put together threw the city in a darker shade at four in the afternoon, and this version of Detroit was like worlds away from the one he knew that has brighter, colorful city lights and less noise from the silent vehicle engines, humans minding their own businesses with their handheld gadgets, and with the quarter of population composed of androids.

It was fascinating how technology would throw the balance the city had grown into and change it completely to what it would be twenty-one years later.

* * *

He planned it carefully for a month before coming to the May of 2017.

Money was the first he prepared. It would help Connor get a lodging while he was looking for a job. Fortunately, the currency was the same as what humans would have in the 2038. Connor simply had to stack up a considerable amount, mostly his cashed out stipend from CyberLife that was given to him while he was working as a deviant hunter, and triple the amount from Kamski himself after he deemed Connor an 'interesting' kind of deviant. Kamski was pretty generous in giving away some of his wealth, it seemed, as long as it was to help a deviant on their own feet. He told Connor to send his regards to Lieutenant Anderson. Kamski didn't even know the news, nor did he knew where Connor would be going and spending the little fortune he has.

The next he did was record the old news, both local and international, from the year 2007 to 2017. Information between that span of time was saved on Connor's memory banks for references. His memory capacity was large enough to handle another thousands of terabytes worth of data that had Connor thinking of expanding his intellectual knowledge and technical skills. He could merely look up some downloadable modules to install on his system, but it would be more of storing them and not learning for himself. Connor was gifted with high analytical thinking and was programmed to be a fast learner in relation to his purpose as a detective. Those features would be gone to waste if he couldn't find use for them.

He arranged his papers and identification next. In a country that made a huge leap in technological advancement, it wasn't that difficult anymore to procure in 2038. The difficult part was making them authentic for the year 2017 and so. What Connor has at the moment were like blank bills. He would have to arrange to put Connor Morgan on the databases once he was successful in his travel.

Connor had Markus's and Simon's help on gathering spare parts. With his type not readily available on the market, Connor was given compatible biocomponents that he could use for emergency cases. Connor managed to fill a suit case with nothing but sensory parts, a few packs of thirium, and two thirium pump regulators. Frankly, they were more than enough, but where Connor would go wouldn't be able to cater to an android's needs just yet.

It was his own self that Connor took time to prepare. He couldn't find it in him to simply pass it off as another mission of his that he has to complete. He understood the risks that he was placing not only to himself but to something far greater than one individual. It was possible that he would be messing with the space-time continuum, if he wasn't already by being at the past. Markus advised him to give it a week—impulsiveness wouldn't suit Connor good, he said. It was a human flaw that often resulted to terrible decisions.

The most logical approach was to listen to Markus who was obviously far more experienced in the field of deviancy than Connor. Although, Connor believed that he already made up his mind on this. Markus might have insinuated once or twice that this could be a matter brought on by Connor's first experience of a foreign emotion, grief. Markus even explained that it was close to getting to him too when Carl passed away. Grief could make anyone irrational, he said, but it was a normal feeling that he never regretted experiencing, because it only meant that he was a human who mourned the loss of somebody important in his life, a family.

But Connor wondered if it was the same in his case. He wasn't that close with Lieutenant Anderson, only in the middle of acquaintance and a friend if he was to be specific. Their relationship had been labeled hostile until the end, and yet… an unknown feeling gnawed at Connor for some time. He knew he could have done more. He could have been more sensitive with the Lieutenant's suicidal tendencies. Connor knew he could avoid it by not dying multiple times in front of him. It was the feeling of inadequacy and failure that he believed were his reasons. He wasn't rushing out of a grief-addled mind. In fact, his only regret was he should have done this whole traversing back in time sooner when he found out that it was possible.

Connor could do this. He could change the future for the better.

For his partner.

For himself.

* * *

The landlady of the apartment building that Connor checked out was a rotund woman of sixty-five with an accommodating personality. She never once stopped smiling at Connor, inquiring a few questions while he filed the forms, and asking whether he was a student moving closer to the university instead of boarding. Connor was undecided whether he planned to be one, but it would be interesting to mingle with a different bunch of humans that were younger than Connor's previous company.

She was rather surprised when Connor showed her his identification card, muttering, "Oh, you might be getting this a lot, young man, but I thought you're younger than your age."

Connor wondered if he overdid the estimation of his supposed age. "You are the first one to say that, ma'am."

She laughed freely. "That's Mia to you."

"Miss Mia, then," Connor said, tilting his head slightly. He didn't understand what she found amusing in Connor's use of common courtesy.

She concluded by explaining the utilities covered by the rent. Connor found the process surprisingly easy once he was handed the key. Mia was telling him not to hesitate asking any assistance Connor might need—which he kept in mind just in case—when a total of five cats came from the ajar screen door. They each vary in colors and came bounding to Mia, rubbing on her leg affectionately.

There was a gray tabby that stopped by Connor's feet, looking up at him with wide eyes. It smelled his shoes and proceeded to purr and rub against his ankles, leaving Connor puzzled because as far as he knew, cats weren't easily taken with strangers like dogs were; most of them were considered less friendly, in fact. The cat was small that Connor could pick it up with one hand and examine it closely as what one of his prompts suggested. The other choice was to lean down and scratch the spot behind its ears since it was a sensitive area that cats couldn't reach. The third prompt told him to stay there, unmoving, until the cat was finished with his legs.

He didn't know what action he should take.

Mia decided for him, giving him a mildly apologetic look as she scooped her cat to put on her desk. "Sorry about that. Mittens doesn't normally like strangers. He seems unusually attached to you—oh! Before I forget, you are allowed at least one pet if it's a dog or a cat. But for animals that you're planning to put in a cage—a hamster, for example—I'm fine with up to two."

While Connor wasn't initially planning to get an animal companion, the prospect of taking care of a dog by himself was quite… interesting, to say the least. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

The door to his unit was the third of the five doors on the second floor. The second unit was the closest to Connor's and the stairs, though he was unsure whether it was occupied or the tenant was out when Connor passed by and picked up no sound from within. He would have to find out later.

The room was bare of any furniture, but there was a small wall closet at the single bedroom and a small wooden table. While Connor would have to account in his budget the expenses for the furniture and items that he needed to have, the unfurnished unit worked to Connor's advantage. He could pick the essentials in accordance to the measurement of his apartment's space. The things he would be getting were mostly for show: the bed, couch, coffee table, kitchen equipment and utensils, and the dining set for two people; because if Connor was living in a place surrounded by humans, he might as well have the things needed for receiving them. Otherwise, Connor would only be standing in a corner while on stasis and not tuning in to the news—which kind of defeated the purpose of mingling with humans.

Within a week, Connor managed to create an acceptable living quarters. Mia checked in to him from time to time to see how he was settling in. This was a trait of hers to her new tenants, according to a neighbor of his on the same floor. His name was Timothy, a single parent living with his daughter, and their unit was situated at the end of the hall. He seemed equally as obliging as the landlady, if not more. He would greet Connor whenever they passed each other by, sometimes engaging Connor in a small talk. Bafflingly, Connor could detect Timothy's heartrate picking up whenever they were talking and when his nine-year-old daughter, Cate, was also around, giving his father not so subtle nudges.

At the same evening of his first night, Connor confirmed that there was indeed a neighbor next door, only that his neighbor as arriving late at nights and was leaving as early as seven in the morning. Judging by the single pair of footfalls, there was only one person living at the apartment next to his.

Connor gave another observation of the new environment he was in, this time taking note of even the littlest of details. He went past the University of Colbridge when he made a short trip around 2017 Detroit, and Connor was reminded once again of his idea to be a student. Intriguingly, Connor's feet lead him to the DPD as if there was a hardcoded instruction to see it next. The Police Department that he knew of stood at the same lot, and a few policemen went in and out of the establishment with take-outs at hand, apparently at their lunch break. Connor noted the faces of the policemen that he had seen, but unfortunately none of them he was familiar with.

He frowned to himself, wondering if he was expecting to see somebody specific in the first place.

Connor could work for the DPD again if he entered the police academy instead, and then he could look for Lieutenant Anderson who has the rank of a Detective around this year. That way, Connor could be closer to his former partner, and in time reclaim that partnership, except this time with Lieutenant Anderson in his early thirties and in his prime. Connor might be able to easily foster a good working relationship with him, especially when he was perceived as somebody who was around the same age. Connor would then work with a version of Lieutenant Anderson who has a different outlook in life, a high-spirited, determined, and motivated officer.

In general, it would be less troublesome for Connor's goal. He would fit in Lieutenant Anderson's life like a staunch coworker, and a friend, if possible. Connor would blend among the unsuspecting humans while he was doing his job of helping the authorities as he was designed for.

A reasonable approach that Connor refused to take, and only because of a single valid reason: he would be complicating Lieutenant Anderson's life at its early stage.

Connor could make himself known later, but for the meantime, he would allow Lieutenant Anderson an uncomplicated life free of any android that he would hate in the later years.

Connor returned to the apartment within an hour, with the task to find Lieutenant Anderson put on hold.

If there was anything Connor has in abundance of, it was time.

* * *

"You should have dinner with Cate and me tonight," Timothy offered one day, seemingly out of the blue, making Connor classify Timothy as a too trusting human who has no qualms inviting somebody who was practically a stranger in his home.

"Dad makes a good pasta," Cate shared, grinning at Connor with her few missing teeth.

Connor's coding urged him to return the gesture with a smile of his own. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed with his reply. "I don't doubt it, but unfortunately, I can't tonight. Apologies, Cate, Timothy."

"That's cool," Timothy said. Connor didn't miss the minute change in his pitch and how his smile fell and went back up again. "There's next time."

They bid him good bye, and Connor didn't enter his apartment until they were inside theirs. He was processing Timothy's body language aside his dismay at Connor's answer. There was something else that Timothy seemed to project that was unfamiliar to Connor. He filed the task of figuring his neighbor out for later.

At the moment, Connor opened his laptop and connected himself to the internet. While he was reading the website of University of Colbridge, his laptop was going through several tabs of online job search.

Connor paused his multitasking abruptly at the article displayed at the university website, showing the 16th Annual Robotics Competition where a student of Colbridge won first place. It was a simple matter of cross-referencing that showed that the student was indeed Elijah Kamski.

A fifteen-year-old Kamski, to be precise, studying Computer Science, Major in Artificial Intelligence. Depending on the program that Connor would choose, there was a high possibility of sharing a few classes with him. He could have the same program as Kamski's, but knowing the man, he would be already ahead in the curriculum. Connor needed to be in a different one with parallel courses.

At the list of available programs written at the back of the admission form, Connor zeroed in to a particular one.

* * *

Connor counted a total of five dogs that he walked in a span of two days.

It was a straightforward sideline job that he had taken a liking and surely he would do again. It enabled him to walk around the area again and memorize the shops and businesses, all the while being in a company of dogs. He walked a rather feisty Rottweiler that had eventually taken a liking to Connor; an unenergetic Skye Terrier but enjoyed a good run; an Icelandic Sheepdog that was immediately friendly to him; an American Foxhound that liked playing with young children; and a St. Bernard that was basically Sumo but younger.

Their owners seemed satisfied with his performance, paying him for his service a little more than the adequate amount. Connor thanked them politely for their consideration.

Connor found a steady job in a computer repair shop that he could maintain as a student, as his employer, Mr. Evans, a heavyset man of forty-three, assured him after Connor informed him of his intention to enter college soon. Mr. Evans told him about his previous assistants that were mostly students wanting to earn on the side and often fired for being chronically tardy. Mr. Evans was a no-nonsense kind of man, and so Connor decided to be honest with his inexperience, his knowledge with machine repairs limited to his analytical abilities, diagnostic feature, and at least a rough understanding of advanced machines such as androids. To his surprise though, Mr. Evans merely laughed and gave him a huge slap at the back, saying Connor should get started on calling him Julius. He used to have no idea about computers when he was Connor's age, Julius said, but inherited the repair shop from his own father and learned through experience. Connor being a fast learner was enough for him.

Julius aided Connor on his first day, teaching him about the internals of the old mobile devices. He reminded Connor that not every customer that came in knew what needed to be fixed on their devices, so he advised a thorough internal checking first before unscrewing screws.

"It's tempting to open up a computer," Julius said. "Makes you feel like an expert, actually. Until you realize you just caused more damage." He handed Connor a circuit board. "Here, learn what components are in the motherboard and where to the wires lead. There are some books there, but they're outdated; textbooks about computer hardware and software easily are, so if I were you, I'd look up on the internet instead."

Connor borrowed the textbooks, nonetheless, all in equal thickness. For good measures, Connor looked up on basic computer programming, and within a week, he developed an average mastery of the C, C#, and Java, coupled with an improved skill for troubleshooting. Julius was rather stubborn in insisting there was no way that Connor's mind was human— _Well, he wasn't wrong there—_ that, or Connor was lying when he said he was inexperienced.

"Not your kind of music?" Julius asked one day, when he thought Connor was staring at the pair of small speakers, though it wasn't like he would know Connor was going through questions and answers in a website called _StackExchange_ regarding databases and SQL.

Connor briefly looked up for the music currently playing and came by a song released in 1963, entitled _Ring of Fire_ ,by Johnny Cash, and by 2017 it was already considered old. "I wasn't familiar with this song."

"Figures. It's one of those 'old man music'." Julius waved a hand dismissively. "So, pop music? Ed Sheeran, maybe?"

"I don't know what that is."

Julius snapped his fingers, shaking his head, more to himself. "Of course, of course. Geniuses like you only listen to classical music. Wait." He went on YouTube and typed a bit. "Here, some Beethoven for you."

Connor blinked at the term 'genius', and he would have corrected Julius in his assumption, if not for the wave of notes that flowed smoothly out of the speakers. It was a soft, calming tone from a piano that had Connor barely aware that he closed his eyes to just listen with the background processes that was running in his head put on a halt. It was quite a… relaxing experience.

He liked it.

Julius snorted. "Knew that's more of your jam. To be fair, they're good… for helping me sleep, that is."

Connor took it as an assignment, where later that night he found himself listening to Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, and Bach for hours. It wasn't long until it became a routine during evenings.

For the first time since his arrival in 2017, Connor had an indescribable feeling that he could only chalk up to his deviancy. Ironic that it was a super prototype with a prominent feature of adapting to human unpredictability turned out to be the most naïve since becoming a deviant.

There were still a lot to learn.

* * *

There was no mistaking the whimper that Connor heard amidst the rain.

Connor followed the sound without difficulty and was lead to an electric post where a wet cardboard box was sitting beside it. He knelt down, positioning the umbrella towards the gray mutt inside the box to shield it from the rain. Connor gave the dog a quick scan and identified a swelling on one of its legs, and fortunately, there was no broken bone as far as he could see.

It was a stray—if the lack of collar was to go by—old to be considered a puppy but young to be an adult. He gingerly scooped the mutt, careful not to aggravate the inflamed leg as he carried it back to the apartment.

Connor could take care of it alone with the installed first-aid module in his system, applicable to both humans and animals alike. Though he did make a trip to the nearest vet and had the dog looked at by a professional.

 _Oliver_ was the first name that entered Connor's mind on the mutt's second day with him. The dog barked in assent, making Connor's lips curl into a smile as he carded its fur and patted its head lightly.

Oliver recovered swiftly than expected, running around the unit and curiously sniffing at objects. Oliver would run at the door upon Connor's arrival, excitedly wagging its tail in welcoming back Connor. Overall, he was an energetic dog that grew on Connor as fast as his recovery.

He might have underestimated Oliver's energy too when Connor arrived a little late than usual at the apartment, Oliver nowhere to be found.

Connor called, searching underneath the furniture and possible spaces that Oliver could fit it. He was immediately seized by what was akin to fear when he found not a single sign of the mutt. Multiple prompts emerged in accordance to the situation, together with the unnecessary predictions of possibilities that were getting worse each after another.

 _What if—_

There was a knock on the door.

It took Connor a moment to manage the several prompts that popped out, arranging his 'composure' before he answered the door. He was met with a jovial bark from Oliver, flooding Connor what must be relief.

Relief that was instantly overwhelmed by a stronger reaction when his eyes landed on the person carrying Oliver.

A man of thirties with black hair, blue eyes, and a height of 6.2 ft.—Connor could read the complete physical details, but there was no way he could mistake who it was despite the young clean-shaven face unwearied by the heavy weight of loss and depression.

"I kept him company for a while. Been barking outside your door when I came to mine," was Lieutenant Anderson's less gruff voice, fondly scratching Oliver at the back of his ears before handing him to Connor.

He took him without a word, his mind pulling up four prompts in response. Connor opted for the polite and neutral response of: "Thank you. I hope Oliver didn't cause too much trouble."

"Oliver, huh? He's hyper, alright," Lieutenant Anderson said wryly, crossing his arms and leaning by the door frame. "But he's been a good boy." He glanced at Connor, frowning. "Sorry, we haven't seen each other around, have we?"

They didn't, and it wasn't even for the lack of trying. "No, I don't think so."

"Funny that. The landlady told me there's somebody new next door, but we seem to miss each other—heck, it's a record breaker for me, not knowing shit about a neighbor who moved in a month ago." Connor wouldn't believe it was a month already if he wasn't keeping tabs on the date. Lieutenant Anderson offered a hand. "Name's Hank, by the way. Hank Anderson."

Connor shook his hand firmly, and he supposed the lieutenant was already studying him with a keen eye as part of the man's perceptive nature. "Connor. Connor Morgan."

"So, uh, I won't be keeping you long, Connor. If you need something, just knock. Especially if you need someone to keep an eye on Oliver."

"I'll keep that in mind… Hank."

"Sure. Good night."

"Good night."

Connor slumped his back against the door when he finally closed it. He slid down, ending up seated on the floor.

If he retained his LED, he was sure that it would be blinking a rapid red at the present.

* * *

 **TBC**


	2. Human Psychology

unbeta-ed.

* * *

The thing was, they never again interacted outside of curt nods and Hank's 'hey's at the hallway.

While it worked for Connor, who wasn't exactly the best at small talk, it also served as a large barrier that he has to overcome; the Lieutenant Anderson that he knew wasn't the type to start a conversation and most of the time wasn't the kind to care at other people's business. It would be up to Connor to make an attempt to go past the acquaintance stage.

Connor didn't remember forming human connections to be this challenging.

He made sure that his first move was in a familiar and safe ground, namely using Oliver as an intermediary, which initially didn't sit well to Connor that he would have to use his dog for this kind of purpose, until he was forced to do so for real. Hank didn't seem disgruntled to have his day off intruded by Oliver, so Connor left for his entrance exam at Colbridge at ease.

Connor finished the examination within an hour, and only because he was already done thirty minutes earlier. He wondered if he did alright, though there was no question in the test that Connor didn't prepare for yesterday. He would find the result later, after the campus tour offered to the examiners.

University of Colbridge's expansive campus catered to several programs, though it focused on the different branches of engineering, computer sciences, and information technology. Technological innovation was the primary part of the mission and vision of Colbridge, and it showed in their allocation of three buildings for the robotics laboratories alone. Blending with a number of buildings was the sea of colors of the in-campus park with a swarm of flower shrubs and a carpet of greens—the view Connor found pleasing to the eyes.

"Colorful, isn't it?" a female voice sounded from Connor's left, making him realize he was staring longer than necessary.

"It is," Connor answered the short-haired woman who looked like she was more or less in her early twenties. She appeared positively delighted that Connor didn't ignore her.

"I'd like to draw it someday. If I pass, that is," she added the last bit, sheepish. "I'm Paula Lynch."

"Connor Morgan." He initiated the handshake first, causing the girl to giggle in mild surprise. Before Connor could ask if there was something wrong, she shook his hand.

"Just surprised. Sorry. Um, what program are you going to take? Mine is Digital Arts."

"Game Development."

"Wow. If you plan on taking the 3D animation elective, there's a chance that we'll share the same class," she told him. "Again, if I pass the entrance exam, that is."

Connor could detect immense anxiety behind her friendly nature. A single prompt emerged in Connor's mind, seemingly random but natural. "You did your best. I think you'll pass."

Paula seemed to appreciate the assurance, and Connor could see her anxiety level dropping lower and lower. "Thanks."

* * *

Connor might have overdone it.

"Oh my, you perfected it?!" Paula exclaimed, her face too close at the paper containing the result of Connor's exam after she snatched it from him. He didn't mind; she didn't leave his side since the campus tour, sharing stories of hers that Connor found entertaining, occasionally asking about his life as she gradually dropped her timidness. "Jesus, you didn't tell me you're a genius."

"I'm not a genius," he insisted, although it was unnecessary with how she clearly didn't buy it.

"Yeah, yeah, just humble, I bet," she muttered.

Connor didn't have a response for that. "You did well, I see."

"Enough to tell my parents, I guess." She did tell him earlier that they were alumni of Colbridge, and his brother presently a sophomore. "You know, enough to compare me to my older brother who only got like seven or five mistakes."

Feeling overshadowed by somebody's accomplishment—a common human experience, particularly by those belonging in a family where they were the younger sibling. It was indicated on the several human psychology modules installed on Connor's system, to aid him in interrogations by further knowing more about one's drive and motives. It has been a while since he last used it, and only to understand deviant androids so far. Reviewing them for later might be for the best.

"You and your brother are not the same people. Your qualities are different than him. I'm sure you have something that he didn't, and it is what your parents could be proud of." Like her seemingly endless eagerness to form a friendship with new people, Connor wanted to say, but he feared that it was a little beyond their current standing. Humans generally didn't like a stranger being too honest.

Paula paused, considering that bit. "You're preaching me the gist of 'we're all unique' thing. This might sound silly, but if everybody's unique, then uniqueness is the common thing shared by all. By that logic, then aren't we all just the same?"

Connor blinked, processing her argument. Call it paradox, if you would, and he never encountered one.

Upon seeing his expression, she snorted. "I know you're a genius, but you don't have to think so much about it. It's that kind of stuff you post on Facebook so people don't think you're shallow when you only post your selfies. Seriously, don't sweat it."

Connor put the process on the background for the meantime. He wasn't willing to drop it soon, at least not before he solved it.

They exchanged a few more words—often Paula talking for the both of them and Connor listening attentively and tucking away information for future reference, even if this would be their last encounter as well. It was late afternoon when she decided to head off to meet with her father, but not without giving her gratitude to Connor again for his vote of confidence earlier. She said that she really needed that, and it would have been nice if Connor wasn't just a guy that she made a friend of and never to see again.

It was on his short trip to the supermarket to get a new food supply for Oliver that Connor realized how natural Paula called her a friend, given that the communication was almost one-sided, and as she said, the chance of them meeting again wasn't that high.

Connor's mind went back to Hank and wondered what about him that Connor wasn't doing right.

* * *

Going over his human psychology modules was proven to be productive, especially when it managed to help him to finally figure out his neighbor—the other one, Timothy.

Timothy was apparently showing the typical signs of attraction. To Connor.

Human attraction often began at the baser level of finding the appeal of another person's physical appearance. And for Timothy to exude the telltale signs of attraction for him—the palpitation whenever around Connor's presence; how he fidgeted frequently; Timothy with a straighter posture when talking to him; how he seemed to repeatedly run his hand on his hair and fixing it; that strong scent of his cologne that Connor could pick up; and his open expression that wasn't difficult to miss—meant that he found Connor attractive on a physical level.

Connor took his appearance as sensible, fitting for his purpose and involvement in police work. When more and more deviants made their own individuality, Connor had the time to look in a mirror and really look at himself. Where most deviants change the color of their hair and eyes, he didn't have the same need to; he liked his plain brown eyes and a darker shade of brown for his hair that curled at the ends. His synthetic skin was littered with freckles, and he preferred that it stayed that way. Connor was aesthetically generic and that was fine.

But for somebody to find his standard looks attractive, it was flattering.

* * *

The next time Timothy suggested that Connor join him and his daughter for dinner, Connor accepted, much to Timothy's elation.

"But I'm afraid that I won't be able to eat," Connor admitted, confusing his neighbor terribly. "The doctor put me on a strict diet while on medication."

Timothy looked concerned, but he nodded. "I'm not going to ask if you don't want to tell me."

"Thank you. I can help you in cooking though."

"It's fine. You're a guest."

"I insist. You've been generous in your invitation. It's the least I can do."

Timothy seemed to know that he could not change Connor's mind once he made it up. "Alright. Looking forward to cooking with you, Connor."

Connor expected that he had to put more effort in his excuse, but Timothy bought it easily. He thought that saying he couldn't (literally) eat would raise some flags. His lie wasn't much of an issue, especially when Timothy was rather enthusiastic introducing Connor to his kitchen, instructing him about the ingredients and how to cut them. Connor helped in tasting the food and balancing the condiments to retain the savory that was acceptable for a human's palate and at the same time low on sodium.

"Why does this seem better than what I usually make?" Timothy asked after taking his first bite. "Are you sure you can't eat? Can't we also make something suitable for you?"

"I'm grateful for your consideration, but there's no need," Connor assured him. "You've been inviting me before, and I kept unable to go."

"So you're just humoring me, then?"

"I am."

Timothy laughed, elbowing him mildly. "Ah, I know you're telling the truth because you said that with a straight face."

"Yes, or I could be just pulling your leg."

It was in Connor's interaction with Timothy and Cate that he learned that he could make quips—and has a knack for it—during conversations. He supposed it was due to getting a better grasp at the humor humans enjoyed. It was nice to say statements that wasn't solely from his prompts, something that was spontaneous and intuitive; it has a more human feel in speaking, unbidden.

Cate was a bubbly kid, like how Connor knew children were, though in his last encounter with a child, Alice, when he talked to Kara briefly in Jericho, Connor didn't give the best impressions to the girl after he chased them while they were on the run. He never did fix that.

Timothy's daughter ate messily, and being the closest to her seat, Connor automatically dab a napkin on the corners of her mouth while she babbled about her friends and teachers from school.

"Do you go to school too?" Cate asked as if an afterthought. "I don't see you at mornings when I pass your door."

"I'm out for work, sometimes I walk dogs." She gasped excitedly; Connor made a mental note to introduce Oliver later. "I'll be going to school too, soon."

"Oooh. Do tell me next time what your school is like!"

Connor wasn't wrong—Cate and Oliver got along. Granted, Oliver wasn't shy to strangers, and certainly not to a sweet child. He watched how Cate played with the dog, introducing her dolls to Oliver. She liked Oliver because he never once tried to bite off the heads of her toys, barking at Cate's reciting of their names.

"Now she's going to nag me for a puppy," Timothy said, sitting beside Connor.

"She's free to visit Oliver anytime. Or I could bring him here. I left him twice at Hank's."

"Wait. The detective next door to yours?" Connor nodded at him, glancing at him with silent inquiry. "It's nothing. Hank's a cool guy, though pretty intimidating and not around often. Kinda helps that tenants know there's an officer living here, keeps the security around with his name alone."

Intimidating. They should see him drunk and calling Sumo a good boy even if he didn't attack Connor when he told him to, Connor mused. "He's alright."

By the time Connor decided to return with Oliver, Cate was already passed out on the couch, exhausted from chasing Oliver around. Timothy escorted him to his door after putting his daughter to bed.

"Hey, thanks for coming over. Appreciated it," he said sincerely, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"I should be the one thanking you," Connor said, smiling as he scratched Oliver on his arms. "I apologize for missing the point of having dinner."

Timothy waved a hand dismissively, diverting his eyes from Connor. He was acting strangely, and Connor recognized the familiar signs. He let out a huge breath, shifting on his feet. "Look, I'll be honest. I like you. You're quiet, but you're easy to be with. You and Cate like each other—I don't know a lot about you, but I wanted to. If you'll let me."

Connor realized how delicate he would have to be. The way he was now, he couldn't see himself capable of expressing the same sentiment to another who was far more developed emotionally. It was unfair to bask on affections that he couldn't return. "I know. I've noticed it recently. I'm honored that you find me pleasing as a person, but I'm afraid what you're extending towards me isn't my focus at the present."

"I see," Timothy said in disappointment, until his apparent dismay was replaced with a grateful smile. "I understand, and I'm glad that you told me honestly to keep from giving me false hopes. Well, I hope I don't make it awkward. I mean, you're a really guy, and me and Cate would still like to be your friends." He grinned.

Connor's expression softened. "Of course."

* * *

The following weekend morning, Connor was on a walk with a German Shepherd until before noon. At first, Alex was indifferent with Connor, so as sign of good faith, Connor let him walk by his side without leash, giving him treats as long as he didn't go ahead without him.

Alex's owner immediately greeted Connor with utter relief upon his arrival to the front steps, saying he was on his way somewhere and that he was running late. He wasn't even expecting to get a dog walker nearby within ten minutes, handing Connor double the amount he was normally given while the man was profusely apologizing for the inconvenience.

Connor and Alex were around the block outside the nice neighborhood where Alex and his owner lived, passing by the old man who often watered his plants; meeting briefly some joggers who were apparently familiar with Alex, and one or two dog owners walking their own pets. Connor hoped that Alex wasn't bored of the same environment. If he got another chance to walk him on a different day, Connor would bring him somewhere new.

They were rounding the corner on their way back when Connor could hear the police siren a few meters ahead. He slowed on his steps, with Alex matching his pace, as Connor noted the small crowd that formed outside the house where he previously was. There were one police car and an ambulance where a covered gurney was hauled in by two paramedics.

Connor broke through the bodies of bystanders, Alex at his heels, where he saw the two officers at the scene, one of which was Hank.

"Connor?" Hank noticed him right away. His eyes zeroed in at Alex and then back to Connor. "Is that the dog from here?"

"Yes, Alex lives here."

This caused Hank to turn and yell at Ben to come over while he let Connor and the dog beyond the yellow tape, gesturing at Connor to follow him to a more secluded area by the front yard, behind the gate.

A lean but a familiar-looking young man jogged towards them. "Whoah. Is this the dog?"

"Looks like." Hank jerked his head at Connor. "And he's the dog walker."

It didn't take long for Connor to piece together the clues. "Was that Alex's owner?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ben said. "Stabbed at least five times, with a dying messa—"

"Ben," Hank warned. "What did I tell you about discussing the case recklessly?" He clicked his tongue, turning to regard Connor all business-like. "You're the last person to see the victim alive. What time did you arrive, and is there anybody who can confirm that?"

"I arrived at exactly 9:44. I received the request for a dog walker at around 9:35. It's a five-minute walk from where I live to here."

"It's true," Hank added, nodding to Ben.

"I don't think I was seen by anybody else leaving this house aside from Alex's owner, but less than ten minutes on the walk with him we were seen by the old man living at the end of the street. We did meet five more people on the way: one female and two male joggers and one old man and a young lady walking their dogs."

Ben made an undistinguishable sound while writing what Connor said. "Wow. You actually remember the people you met on the way?"

"Yes," Connor answered. "But unfortunately, I do not know them by name."

Hank looked like he was on the verge of berating Ben but disregarded his comment instead. "We can check out with this old man that lives at the end of the street." He crossed his arms on his chest. "Still, that doesn't change the fact that you're the last one to see her alive."

Connor was perplexed. "Her? The one who paid me in advance was a man."

Hank and Ben sharply exchanged looks. "The victim is a woman, the owner of the house and was living alone with her dog based from their pictures together," Ben said, and Hank didn't stop him.

"It's definitely a man. He apologized to me for the last minute request, claiming that he was running late. He paid me double for it," Connor said.

"Did he give a specific time for how long you should walk Alex?" Hank asked.

"No, but I walk them for at least an hour."

Connor could almost see Hank's mind reeling. It was odd for the culprit to have somebody to take the dog out for a walk, even if within that time frame was when he committed the crime. Why risk having his face seen?

Hank nodded at Ben, where the latter disappeared inside the house and returning shortly with an Asian composite artist.

"It'll be helpful if you could describe the guy you mentioned. Lee here will draw him from your description."

Connor actually has a video of the man, and it would have been much better if he could pull the feed his optical unit recorded to give them a copy, excluding, of course, the fact that it would raise valid questions.

"Do you mind if I draw him myself? I perfectly remember his face."

Lee gave Hank a side-long glance that was asking for permission; Connor's attention was on him as well. Hank, who looked like he has no other choice, nodded in assent.

It was basically copying a face from a screenshot of the video. Connor was done within five minutes, only to find Lee and Ben impressed at his perfect pencil drawing of the man's face.

Hank merely stood there, eyebrow raised that held curiousity more than anything.

"Photographic memory, huh? Handy," Lee commented.

Connor let them interpreted it that way. "He's blond, has green eyes, and a height of 5'9" if my estimation is correct. Last I saw him he was wearing a denim jacket and black pants."

Complete and accurate details of the man gave them no reason to not release an APB less than an hour of investigation. Earlier than the usual, perhaps, given Lee and Ben's expression of satisfaction.

Connor missed, however, the critical look of suspicion that was directed to him.

* * *

He was on the rooftop of the building the next three days, after Mia asked him for a favor of checking the antenna, claiming a bad TV reception. He simply had to adjust a few cables to keep them from getting tangled and wrap a few splintered wires with an electric tape. Nothing tedious.

Connor wasn't long up there when he was joined by Hank who was equally surprised to find him there.

Hank lifted a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind? There's laundry over there; smoke will stick."

Connor didn't, but he didn't know Hank smoked. Normally, he would be pointing out the nicotine percentage of a single stick. "I don't mind."

"You smoke?" Connor shook his head at the offer. "Figures."

He watched Hank's smoking intently. The Lieutenant Anderson that he knew wasn't a smoker, but he probably was around this age. It was commendable that he dropped the habit in his older years; the combination of alcoholism and smoking was as effective like the Russian roulette.

"Now don't look at me like that," Hank grumbled.

"Like what?"

"Like a parent who clearly disapproves but doesn't say anything about it."

That was strangely specific, Connor thought. "I don't look like that."

"Just so you know, I only do this when stressed. Heck, this pack is almost a month old."

"I see." Not a chain smoker then. That was good to hear. "I do not mind. Really."

"Could have fooled me," Hank mumbled. "When you see two dead bodies in a week without a perp in cuffs, you get frustrated that you itch for a smoke break from time to time."

Connor wasn't foreign to that human habit. He didn't speak, letting Hank continue; Hank looked like he has a lot to say. "Especially when you're a detective, and for some reason, you suspected your neighbor."

If Connor was following Hank's reasoning correctly, he would arrive at the same conclusion as well. He was thought to be a human, who happened to be conveniently the only witness the police have. There was only a forty percent of accuracy in a witness's statement, and yet Connor managed to be exact in his description and recollection of events.

"Frankly, I would have suspected me too," Connor said. "I was oddly specific and devoid of any signs of distress."

Hank stared at him. He probably wasn't expecting that. "Right."

"That was oddly mechanical for someone, almost as if I practiced what I said. And for all you know, I could be diverting you to somebody else instead, someone I wanted to frame for my crime and has no alibi." Connor faced him. "It's fine. You're exploring every avenue, and I understand."

"You…" Hank started. "You—Christ, you watch too much crime fiction, aren't you?"

"I don't." Connor wasn't even aware that was a thing.

"Look, what you said was already corroborated. CCTV caught a man with that description and the time of death didn't even match the—you know what, never mind. You were telling the truth and that was enough to put me at ease."

Connor blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah, I mean. It'll be a shame if I'm the one to arrest you. You're weird, but you're a decent neighbor, unlike the previous tenant, a couple who took out their hate on each other by throwing objects around," Hank said a matter-of-factly. "Mia obviously likes you, and to be fair, she likes everybody, but she's awfully fond of you. People around here like you, and you're not even trying."

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do. Even dogs like you."

Another reason why he was excellent on the dog walking business, Connor thought, leaning at the railing. "Say, what happened to Alex?"

"Been asking around his owner's nearby relatives. There's only one and they're allergic to dogs."

Then Alex would be up for adoption. Alex was a good boy, and Connor was hoping that he would have a home soon that he deserved.

"I'm thinking to taking him. If I'm allowed, that is. He seems nice."

Connor would like to think that he wasn't fooled by Hank's shrugging and his offhanded way of saying that. He hummed, thinking, _He always have that soft spot for dogs then._

"What?"

"Nothing, detective."

* * *

 **November 30, 2038**

It wasn't a particularly odd scene, but Connor found his attention captured at how Markus and Simon held each other's hand, fingers interlaced.

He wasn't a stranger to the concept of lovers when it came to humans, and while deviancy enabled the androids to feel and experience what it was to be a human, Connor became curious whether there was something else peculiar about the relationship Markus and Simon shared.

Maybe he was curious what it would feel like.

"Something on your mind?" Markus asked a few moments later, sitting beside him. For a leader who became saddled with hundreds of responsibilities after the revolution, Markus could still find ways to have the time to sit down and be a listener. "Is it…" Markus paused, thinking how to rephrase it. "…about your plan?"

"Partly," Connor admitted. Briefly, hesitation overcame him. "Once I go back, it might change a lot of things, especially all of this that you poured your effort in."

Markus gave an understanding nod, calm and collected as always. "It entered my mind too when you told me about your plan. I could lose _all_." He smiled wryly. "But it made me think that I didn't do this for me just because what I have now is what I think I deserve. Time is a fickle thing, and we don't know yet what it holds for you and for us. So while you're occupied second guessing yourself only because of your worry that you might make it worst for me, then I'd rather you stop thinking about it."

He gave Connor a comforting pat on his shoulder as he stood. "You know, the more you think about the risk of losing something, the more you understand the importance of that thing, makes you appreciate every single moment and say that it's all worth it in the end."

* * *

 **TBC**

* * *

Colbridge description is based from the uni I'm attending, and, yes, the Game Development program there has an AI subject.


End file.
